I am Bonnie
by TurtleFeathers
Summary: …and I am not a mutant. Charged with not registering, I have to wait 3-10 business days in jail to prove them wrong, which gives me a lot of time to think. Too much time to think. OC-Centric, rated T for language, after X3.
1. The 1st Day

I Am Not a Mutant

* * *

><p>AN I own anyone with the last name of Campbell: Bonnie, Meghan, their parents, and later you'll hear about Zoe. Everyone else, including Natalie, belong to Marvel. I got the names and powers from Wikipedia's list of "Mutants with no known squad."

A couple of warnings: this is an OC-centric fanfic, with only light references to the Marvel characters you know and love. Secondly, this writing format is supposed to be as if the main character was talking aloud, which gets a little weird at times. I'd like to keep it this way, but I am open to suggestions, constructive criticism, and inquiries on clarification all the same.

In short, I am grateful to those who read and review.

* * *

><p>It isn't quite as picturesque as those Hollywood westerns. For starters, there aren't any bars immediately visible. There is a hefty green door, with its green paint peeling in the corner. There isn't a window amongst the cream colored cinder blocks for bars to be placed, either.<p>

Perhaps this is for the better. Western prisoners wouldn't have beds this nice. I try bouncing on the bed a little from my sitting position, attempting to convince myself the spongy bed is superior to the dirt or prickly hay of the frontier.

Alright, forget the bed. Surely I'll enjoy more privacy than the historic outlaws were given.

This argument is cut down before I can finish my thought, spying a camera peeking out discretely from the corner. I can't decide whether to be grateful or insulted by the subtly of a camera, as opposed to the straight-forward nature of having a cage anyone could view.

Instead, I slowly lay onto the mattress, trying not to shiver as I feel my body sink into its material. I stare at the smudge marks on the ceiling, and swear if you squint, it looks just like Alaska.

What about the less obvious? I won't be lynched, as was dramatized in those Westerns. Then I become conscious of the plastic bracelet that currently encompasses my left ankle, hidden from plain view by the baggy, cotton leg of the bright orange scrubs she I currently adorn.

Pulling my leg back, I gingerly trace the banding, feeling the edges and tracing the lettering indented on the side. Mutant suppressing technology, or at least that's what they said. I can't remember how long this stuff had been out. Did they have this stuff out two years ago? Ten?

I make a conscious effort to unknit my eyebrows that had become so furrowed in the course of my thoughts. Did it matter, really? I feel my face flush again. Of course it mattered, look at where it landed me now? Have I already forgotten about Natalie Wood?

I feel my heart drop, like a stone- a really heavy one, maybe like one of those boulders if you were to tip over into the Grand Canyon. It has been years since I heard from my friend. Did I stop seeing her because of the distance? New York was far away after all, not to mention winter was a pain in the ass, or was it because she was a m-

"Stop!" I shout to myself, bolting up. I startle myself with my own abruptness, dully noting the rapid pounding in my chest creep back into a quieter rhythm. …2…3…4, ….2….3….4…. and so on. My verbal protest does nothing to stop the guilt from washing over me. "It wasn't my fault," I whisper, trying to sooth myself. Really, it isn't any one's fault that my best friend in the whole world is a

…mutant.

Who said it was a fault, I almost growl aloud. I stand up, and try pacing. There isn't much room to pace in a six by six cell, however. I feel like one of those screen savers on the computer, where the little symbol or whatever it is bounces off the dark edges of the computer screen.

I sit back on the bed, feeling physically drained and emotionally withdrawn. Is this some of it was a side effect of the mutant suppressor, or if it was solely from emotional shock? Fleetingly, I wonder how much research had been done and made available on the consequences of these technologies when applied to humans.

"Oh, Meghan," I hear my own voice croak in the cell, and am briefly reminded of the toads I used to catch, "Why didn't I listen to you?" Because if I had, maybe I wouldn't be lying in jail, comparing my voice to a toad, and thinking that smudges resemble Alaska.

Meghan tried to warn me. She tried to show me the news, and explain how the recent so called "Mutant Uprising" would leave the population paranoid. She tried to tell me that my energy work had real results. "I'm not that good," I had tried to protest, thinking my sister was trying to pester me.

Only now do I see that my sister wasn't trying to give me idle compliments.

I learned Reiki, a type of energy work, over the summer. It is a teachable, learnable, although relatively misunderstood healing art. I had a nice teacher. What was his name? No wait, it was a her… Candice. She always wore those purple pants. How did she get so many purple pants? Did they have a market dedicated to people like Candice who feel driven always to wear purple?

They took me when I was working on Peter; he had complained of back pain. I feel bad about his door. I don't know why, but law enforcement chose to kick it down. How much does it take to repair a door? Well, you might need a new door knob.

I'm beginning to feel a loathing towards my so called "talent." Intuition is severely misunderstood, and difficult to understand, because lacks clear-cut definitions, and there is no way to put it into measurement, at least not that I know of.

So they called me a mutant instead. As they snapped the handcuffs around my wrists, the police officer said I was being charged for failing to register as a mutant.


	2. The 2nd Day

Never Again Will I Drive Through New York City

* * *

><p>AN I know these chapters are short. I originally had it written out all as one story, but I liked it better broken up. The good news is you can expect daily updates. By the way, if any of you have any suggestions for what should happen to Bonnie or anyone else, then let me know. If nothing else, I could always write about an AU Bonnie upon request.

Reiki was mentioned in the last chapter, and will be continually mention through the course of this fic, so I offer some background. According to Reiki dot org, "Reiki is a Japanese technique for stress reduction and relaxation that also promotes healing. It is administered by 'laying on hands' and is based on the idea that an unseen 'life force energy' flows through us and is what causes us to be alive. If one's 'life force energy' is low, then we are more likely to get sick or feel stress, and if it is high, we are more capable of being happy and healthy." Wikipedia and google can provide more info to those interested, or you can PM me.

In short, I am grateful to those who read and review.

* * *

><p>I have to wait three to ten business days to prove them wrong. That is when the DNA test results from the blood sample they took will arrive. I already know what the results will be. First, I lack a family history. More importantly, the previous test I had taken came out negative, although they insisted on doing the new test, claiming the procedure had become more accurate since I had last had my blood drawn. And most importantly, I know myself and my own body better than anyone. I wonder what their faces will look like when they see the "-" on that paper. Or maybe it'll just tell them "negative." Or maybe it's just some kind of color coded dot. I can't say I really care, just as long as it gets me out of here.<p>

Not that they would be able to keep me in here long anyway. Even if I was a mutant, which I'm not, I probably would just get a fine and be court-ordered to register.

I roll over, facing the wall. I ache for a window. The cell phone I had used as a clock was confiscated with everything else. I know that the long amount of time that seems to pass probably amounts to a few minutes. Time always seems to crawl in these types of situations, after all.

Now that I think about it, I knew a disproportionate amount of mutants. In my high school, which has about twenty hundred students, there are probably, I don't know, about a dozen mutants. And I knew five of them before their mutations manifested. Hm, weird. Wait, do I count Quincy? He was more like an acquaintance than a friend. I don't know what happened to him when his mutations manifested. I know Lucy dropped out, she said she was going to finish school online. Ruth was in my graduating class, but she went to study abroad. Dave and I also lost touch after graduation.

Then there was Natalie Wood. I also teasingly called her "Elf" after her powers manifested, and I think she actually liked the nick name. She ended up at that school in New York, a school to help mutants, and I was the one to drive her there.

I shudder, recalling the drive up there. I was seventeen at the time, driving my mom's old mini-van. I was used enough to driving in city traffic, but driving on the freeway was a new experience. Driving through the Big Apple was the worst. I wanted to drive around the city, but eventually I caved into Natalie's pressure, and drove through the city. Never again.

Natalie was my second time at the Mansion. Robin was my first, when we were still in Junior High. In both cases, my reaction to the X-mansion was the same. Maybe it was because I didn't get out enough, but the size of the school had a jaw dropping effect. I still find it unbelievable that someone would call that a house. Even "manor" wasn't enough, castle might be more suitable. At the time, I thought only the pyramids of Egypt might compare to the size of the place.

With Robin, things had gone more smoothly, or at least more quickly. Robin's mom had driven us in her station wagon, and we flocked around our departing friend like a bees around a hive. We waited in a foyer, Robin's parents did some paperwork, we said our final good-byes, and we were gone. I was asleep most of the way back, haunted by strange dreams about the friend I had just left. Now that I think about it, Natalie was there also, stuck in the middle seat. I wonder what she would have thought if she knew she would be a student there, too.

Instead of having a nice road trip chaperoned by prepared and experienced parents, my second trip northward was led by two broke teenagers trying to survive the highways and traffic of one of the largest cities in the country. It was not a good day.

By the time we staggered through the front doors, it was past eleven at night. I know I was tired enough to fall asleep on my feet, and I know Natalie certainly looked that tired. We were both soaked by the pouring rain, and I felt guilty dripping on the wood floors. Drip… drip…

I glance at the faucet in my prison cell. I can't tell if it really was dripping, or if it's just my imagination. In another moment, a fat drop freed itself from the faucet head, landing in the metal bowl with a satisfying "plink."

Well, I guess I'm not crazy then, or at least not yet.


	3. The 3rd Day

They Called Me "Talented"

* * *

><p>AN We're about half way through. I'm a visual thinker, so I appreciate visuals. If I were able to draw worth beans, I'd draw Bonnie for you. I guess it'd be a pretty boring pic, though, since all it'd be is some random girl sitting in a jail cell. You can google that. Maybe I'd include the Alaska-smudge.

I apologize for the somewhat AU elements, namely the mansion losing its anonymity to a flock of teenage humans. Bonnie's awareness of these things is quite pivotal to the plot, and I'm afraid I am unaware of how to reconcile this.

In short, I am grateful to those who read and review.

* * *

><p>I close my eyes, and rewind back to the dripping on that floor. I'm pretty sure that floor was worth more money than the mini-van I drove to get us the mansion.<p>

I hadn't planned on staying. I felt out of place there, being the only human in a school full of mutants. I don't know if it was prejudice or not. Maybe it was, but it can't be helped. Wouldn't I be equally self conscious if I was the only European-American in a school full of African-Americans? Anywho, I didn't want to intrude on my friend's new residence and school.

Sure you don't want to stay? Someone had asked me.

I insisted I would be fine. A mug of coffee would be appreciated, and then I would head back home. In truth, I didn't feel fine. I was hours from home, and holding up my eyelids felt like trying to hoist up steel. I was calculating how much taxes amounted to, in order to pay for a night at what was probably a roach-infested motel.

Maybe the bags under my eyes were a clear enough indicator that no, I was not fine. I later learned that the head master was supposed to be a telepath. Either way, basically the guy I was talking to insisted that I should stay, there was an extra room anyway, blah blah blah and I can't remember what else he said. When Natalie started pestering me to stay the night, too, I caved again. Damn peer pressure.

I got lost trying to find the room, and ended up finding the kitchen instead. I guess I'm just not good with directions at o-dark hour. I accidentally snuck up on a guy when I sat down with a mug of brewing tea. Actually, I think he nearly fell off his stool, which would have made me laugh if I wasn't so tired.

He mentioned I appeared new. "Are you a stealth type mutant?" he inquired awkwardly. The late hour could not be improving his vocabulary.

"I'm not," I mumbled, as another person, I assume a student, swung in from the doorway, before rummaging through the various cupboards. The late hour wasn't doing much for me, either, because I couldn't keep myself from blurting out, "Check the one on the left."

He glanced at me, before checking the area I had indicated. Immediately, he found the soda he was apparently looking for.

The teen who was still sitting next to me ventured, "Okay, are you a telepath?"

I didn't know how I knew what I knew. If Natalie were there, she'd be able to explain these kinds of outburst were normal, still are normal, I should add. I stared into my mug, the transparent liquid slowly taking on a golden color under the influence of the tea bag. "I'm not."

Theatrically, the teen next to me through up his hands, and stated, "Okay, I give up. What is your mutation?"

"I'm not," I replied, refusing to make eye contact. I didn't have to look at him to know he was dubious. I gave a lazy shrug, and finished, "a mutant, I mean. I'm a human."

"If you don't mind me asking, what's a human doing in the X-mansion. I'm Pako, by the way," introduced the boy adjacent to me, sipping from the can of Coke.

I didn't offer a name, instead saying, "I drove my friend here from Virginia."

"Wait, wouldn't her parents drive her?" Pako asked.

Irritably, I replied, "Go ask her." Really, it was none of his business that Natalie's parents wouldn't drive her. It was none of their business that they took her change badly, and she called me in the middle of the night sobbing. It wasn't their business that I was missing school in order to drive my friend ten hours north. I would end up grounded for a week by the time I got back. I was lucky it wasn't longer; my parents saw my side of the story and said something along the lines of doing the wrong thing for the right reason.

"I'm Crater," introduced the guys sitting next to me. I determined they were code names, of sorts. "Look, you don't have to hide things here. This is a safe place for us."

From people like me. From people like the legislators and policeman who enact laws like the mutant registration act. From people like Natalie's parents, whose short-sightedness effectively alienated them from their daughter.

I managed to hold my tongue, and left. I my tea remained on the counter, untouched. What a waste of good tea.

My mom calls it our "talent." She can actually see ghosts and stuff. I just blurt out random things I shouldn't have a way of knowing. Oh, and I can sense energies, which is really handy in energy work. I'm glad I took the time to learn Reiki, because I have really been able to help people with that. If I remember correctly, aren't mutations supposed to come from the Dad? Well, I inherited certainly inherited one thing from my Dad: his gargantuan size. Even now, I have to curl up a little to keep my feet from hanging off the bed. Meghan actually ended up playing foot ball during junior high, since she was certainly as large as most of the boys, and about the only team mate who took anything seriously.

Going back to my Mom, I think intuition, if it is inherited, is a matrilineal thing, or at least it is for us. That might explain why women have a greater tendency to be spiritual. Of course, in that case, it would make Christianity a very backwards religion. After all, Christianity is traditionally male-dominated, instead of female-dominated.

Whatever. Whatever you call it: talent, mutation, curse, intuition, I'm still stuck with it, and look where it landed me.


	4. The 4th Day

I Miss my Friend.

* * *

><p>AN Zoe Campbell is a character I submitted to an X-men Evolution story that compiled several OCs together, called, "Calling All OCs" by apersonfromflorida. I believe this fanfic is on hiatus, as of now. I've also used Zoe's character in other fanfic I have left unpublished.

In short, I am grateful to those who read and review.

* * *

><p>When they gave me one phone call, I called my parent's home phone. Naturally, no one answered, so a left a voice message letting them know, essentially, "Guess what, Mom and Dad, I'm in jail." Right.<p>

Actually, that phone call was only the runner up in hard phone calls. The hardest phone call was trying to explain at one o'clock in the morning to my parents why I was in North Salem, New York instead of back home after school. About the only nice thing about that conversation was that my Dad gave directions in order to effectively drive around NYC. My mom had explained to me bluntly that she was surprised I hadn't been creamed by the Big Apple's infamous traffic.

It took them this long to get to the county jail where I am being held. Apparently, they were having trouble with the voicemail, again, and then it's a ten hour drive to get here. According to Mom, Dad would be flying in over the weekend, but they might let me out by then. Meghan would be coming in, too, but it's not easy trying to get time off of a job you just started.

Mom brought me some of my books. They wouldn't let her give me my I-pod, though. That's too bad, I had some movies on there that would have really helped to pass the time (and it has a clock!). Still, the books are a welcome enough of a respite.

Among them is a bibliography on Zoe Campbell. I suppose we could be called kin, at least we have the same ultra-common last name. It's pretty boring; I had already read the book a number of times over when I was doing a research paper on her last semester, namely her court case.

If I had processed pen and paper, I might have tried to trace the cover. Zoe herself stood before the camera upside down, demonstration her mutation. Although her hair fell in a natural manner towards the ceiling, a ball that a hand released, the rest of the body off camera, demonstrate Zoe was upside down thanks to her ability to ability to manipulate the direction of gravity. What if I could do that? Well, if nothing else, it might make pacing easier. I could just walk in circles by going around the walls. Otherwise, the walls and ceiling were about as boring as the floor. I'd probably look like a hamster running around in a wheel.

That wasn't all Zoe could do.

Potentially one of the more powerful mutants on record, the Campbell literally destroyed half the gym of her middle school- by accident. This is pretty weird to think about, having the ability to accidentally crush the wall in front of me. That would be nice, except I doubt it would do much for my legal situation. Maybe I could just smash a window in my room? Wait, this would only work if one of my walls did face the outside, because if it's an interior room, I'd just have a lovely view of, well, another room.

You wouldn't know it from looking at the cover, but Zoe's purple hair is one hundred percent natural. Apparently it used to be strawberry blonde, according to her mom, but then Zoe hit puberty. That's actually relatively minor, I've heard that some people will change skin tones or grow new appendages. Actually, that'd be kind of nice, having and extra limb. Especially when I'm trying to carry groceries up to my room, a third hand would be really, er… handy.

When did my sense of humor become so corny? I miss TV, and the comedians who could crack real jokes, like those guys on "Whose Line is it Anyway?" Okay, sometimes the jokes are really bad, but sometimes they are really good, too.

I wonder what a third hand would do for a comedian. Would they make handy jokes? Nah, they'd probably actually come up with something original, unlike me. This would not be so good in other jobs, though. Mm… I can't see how having a third arm, or horns or rainbow colored skin would contribute to a professional image. Aside from the entertainment industry, this could prove to be a disadvantage. Even having purple hair, like Zoe's, would be a pain in the ass trying to convince the rest of the world: yes, this is my natural hair color.

Forget about a job, what about surviving school? I wouldn't know what I would have told my junior high friends if my hair turned _purple_. I probably would start dyeing my hair. But my hair grows really fast, so I guess my purple roots would be prevalent in about four weeks. My sister tried dying her hair, and she said that you were supposed to wait every six weeks to dye your hair, or else you would damage it too badly. Six weeks wasn't often enough for her, so Meghan tried doing it every three weeks, which ended up making her hair really brittle. That's why she stopped dyeing her hair, even though she hates her natural color to this day.

But neither of us have purple hair. I guess one thing to take note of is that we both have hair in the first place. It's bad enough to be a bald man. Being a bald woman dooms you to, at best, standing out in our society. At worst… actually, I can't say I really know. Really bad though.

I wonder if Natalie would know. I tried contacting her last Christmas, but I didn't get very far. Then school started again and the rest is history. For all I know, she might have taken the cure. Lots of mutants did, the media makes it sound like most mutants do. Impressions can be misleading though (I'm learning from experience).

What made Zoe so famous was the legal case when she tore apart the school, the school district tried to sue her and her family. Zoe's mom and step dad were a force to be reckoned with: passionate, well educated, and more than financially sound, they fought back tooth and nail in a counter sue, and the court proceedings almost winded up in the supreme court. Even though it didn't make it up there, it was sensational enough of a case on its own by asking if mutants were to be held accountable when they lost control of their powers. Minors are not held accountable now, in the state of Washington. As for anyone else and everywhere else, it was a question that still hangs in the air.

One of the things I analyzed was how the case could have turned out different if there was casualty, or even a fatality, when Zoe's gravity manipulating abilities caused increased gravity enough to make the support beams fail. Of course, there were a lot of other variables that might have changed the case. Zoe could have already been an adult, the court proceedings could have taken place in another state, or Zoe's parents might have been more poor or less educated, or less tolerant...like Natalie's parents.

Sometimes, I still day dream that Natalie's parents were more like Zoe's. Maybe she would have still gone to New York, since generating solid photon objects is pretty serious business. It still would have been a smoother departure than the mad dash we made to North Salem like a couple of criminal escapees. Or maybe Natalie would have been able to stay, and I wouldn't have lost my best friend.


	5. The 5th Day

Is Anyone Out There?

* * *

><p>AN I was supposed to post these chapters Monday and Tuesday. I apologize for the delay. This is what I consider to the funniest chapter out of the rest.

I am grateful to those who read and review.

* * *

><p>I'm pretty sure that my fatigue isn't just shock at this point, because I've spent days with nothing to do but lie around in my bed most of the time, and I'm still fatigued.<p>

Intuition can manifest itself in a number of ways, and for me this is mostly in the form of blurting out random bits of knowledge, and feeling people's energies. Feeling energies means feeling about where someone is, how they are feeling, and even their overall health. Being able to sense and work with their energies is the foundation of energy work like Reiki.

Intuition, just like any other sense, can be affected by fatigue, stress, competing senses, etc. This, and the fact that stone and concrete has a tendency to absorb energies makes it very difficult for me to sense anything since I have dwelled here.

Sometimes, when I put my hands and ear on the cool metal of the door, I think I can feel the signatures of some of the officers walking around. I certainly couldn't tell you their precise location or their emotions. Still, I made it a hobby to see if I could predict when my meals were arriving. I've had mixed success.

Another major problem is, when I concentrate too hard, I start to feel the energies of the other prisoners, and I don't like what I'm sensing. Some are angry, many are afraid. Most everyone here is in some kind of stress or distress.

This negativity can't be good for my health. I hope it doesn't speed my aging, I'm too young for anti-wrinkle cream. Well, maybe that's a little dramatic. I guess if there's a point I'm trying to make, it's that I'm sick of being in prison.

I haven't had much of anyone to talk to, besides my lawyer and for a brief period my Mom, for about a week. Or waits, it's been more like six days… or maybe four. I'm hopeless without a planner. Oh yeah, I guess I talked to Meghan on the phone too.

It'd be nice if I had my computer, then I could clutter all my friend's walls on facebook with my various ramblings. Or even e-mail. I guess I could do snail mail, but I'm not in here for that long. Texting might be nice, but they have my phone. Smoke signals are impossible without at least the window, though I suppose I could burn my bed sheets as fuel. As for morose code, I don't have the equipment, and no one is going to hear me tapping on these ultra-thick walls and door. Pheromones… as if anything besides a bee would be able to make out what I was trying to tell them by smelling me. Still, it might be cool to be able to communicate with a larger portion of the prison my spreading my pheromones through the ventilation shaft.

Telepathy would be really nice right now. Then I could talk to my friends, or just have someone to talk to in general. I could just read someone's mind whenever I wanted to see where my god-damned paperwork was. I guess this would be a good way to get black mail, too. Even if I had black mail, though, I probably wouldn't use it, except maybe to get someone to let me outside for a few minutes. Or maybe I'd just skip the black mail thing, and us my mind powers to convince the police force that I was a janitor or something. I'd go back, I swear, I just want a few minutes of fresh air!

Humans aren't telepaths, no matter how much I wish I could be. Reading the energies someone gives off doesn't remotely compare. Wait, what if a telepath was here, and listening to me right now? Hello? Heeellooooo…? Anyone out there? I'm friendly, I think. I'm pretty sure I'm friendly, but maybe my mind isn't so friendly to a telepath. If that's the case, stay out of my head! I don't want anyone getting hurt.

That head master was a telepath. I wonder if _he _could hear me. What was his name? -vier, O'vier,… you know, if you're out there, you could give me a hand. What did it start with? Zuh…, that's right, it was a Z! Wait, no it wasn't, it was one of those weird spellings, Greek, I think. I think it was an X. Yeah, it must have been an "X." Well, since I can't remember the rest of your name, I'll just have to call you "Mr. X." Or wait, you would have been really educated. Not only are you a teacher, your whole attitude, including your energies, screamed "I am educated!" when I met you. Hmm… I guess I'll go with "Dr. X," then. Close as I'm going to get, anyway.

Okay, Dr. X, wherever you are, can you hear me? I'm stuck Butler county jail in Ohio. I don't have powers, I'm not a mutant, but some nut job decided I was one and put me in here anyway. I'm a student at MU. I go to school, I make good grades, and I don't skip class except when I skipped English composition during my Freshman year. This place is driving me crazing, the fact we are doing this to anyone is wrong on so many levels, and I'm sorry!

I notice my nose is stuffed, up, and just now notice the tears streaming down my cheeks. This is crazy, I'm trying to talk to someone who is far away, doesn't know me, and probably is busy trying to live his life. Actually, he might not even be alive. From all that violence, and that "mutant uprising" and terrorism that helped spark this hysteria, he might not even be alive, and neither might be Natalie. Or Robin, or anyone else I knew. Who knows?

I could extend my search and call out to any telepathic mutant, but I guess that would be unfair of me. After all, if I were a telepath, I wouldn't want to hear the mental rants and shout outs of a half-crazed prisoner either.

I'm just so sick of prison. The first thing I'm going to do when I get out is find a cheeseburger… after I get a shower that lasts more than five minutes.


	6. The Last Day

I Told You So

* * *

><p>AN: Last chapter, technically, though I'll be adding an epilogue probably by Friday. A special shout out to the two readers who put "I am Bonnie" on their alert list: Coriander Tea and bobbinbird.

I don't have any reviewers yet. Is my writing quality poor, is this an unpopular topic I'm writing about, or is there something else going on? Such feedback is one of the reasons I am grateful to those who read and review.

* * *

><p>I've been plagued by a lot of strange dreams and no-sense nightmares, which I can't really recall. I remember this one, though.<p>

I must be at the mansion again, how else would I wind up in that kitchen with Crater and Pako? The conversation started out as the same, with Pako searching for the soda, and Crater nosing in on my origins. "Look, you don't have to hide things here. This is a safe place for us," he said, just like in my memories.

Instead of walking away this time, I faced him and whined, "But I'm not a mutant, I'm just a kid from New Jersey." Why I said that, I have no idea, since I'm Virginian.

"Then how are you doing that?" said a new voice. In Pako's place, Natalie stood before me wide-eyed. I followed her gaze, only to discover my mug of tea suspended in the air.

"Wait, I'm not doing this," I tried to protest, but random stuff just kept rising into the air, until I was rising in the air. I tried to reach out and grab something, but my fingers grabbed at emptiness. All the time, Natalie and Comet just stood there, unmoving, watching as I floated further and further away, until all I could see was a speck of light.

Then I wake up, exactly one second before the green metal door swings open, and a police officer enters. Another person follows him, clad in business attire. She is explaining something very detailed to me, but what it boils down to is that I am free to leave. Finally, the fog in my head clears enough for me to remember she is my lawyer. About the only thing I can muster are grunts that resemble acknowledgement.

With Meghan flying in later that afternoon, the first thing I'm doing isn't getting a cheeseburger. At eight thirty in the morning, I spend my first hour out of prison eating pancakes with my parents.


	7. Epilogue

I am Meghan.

* * *

><p>AN: This chapter is from Meghan's, Bonnie's older sister, point of view. Although the chapters make it look like Bonnie was in jail a little over six days, I actually imagined Bonnie's stay to be more like a week and a half (about 9 nights). According to my math, Bonnie could have been jailed as long as 14 nights. What this translates to is that I can go back and add another chapter between "The 5th Day" and "The Last Day" if ideas for more ramblings/misadventures for Bonnie to have strike me. Again, reader input in how to improve my writing, or ideas for future chapters are greatly appreciated.

In short, I am grateful to those who read and review.

* * *

><p>A year ago, they arrested my little sister, Bonnie, on the charge of failing to comply with the mutant registration act. When I heard the news, I wanted to drop everything to come see her. It was Bonnie herself, over the phone, who convinced to that I shouldn't compromise my career, so I waited until I could get some time off. The DNA test result resolved things relatively quickly, and we didn't even know Bonnie was in jail until a couple of days late thanks to technological difficulties with Mom and Dad's home phone. That's why I didn't see her till after she had been released from prison. I spent the night with her that night. I am used to my sister sleeping sound enough to sleep though a train wreck, so I was unnerved when I found her eyes staring at the ceiling when I went to bed, to find her eyes fixated on that same point on the ceiling the next morning. She insists that her sleep cycles were just screwed up by her irregular sleep patterns in jail. I think, scratch that, I know it was something more than that. My sibling had changed.<p>

She went to counseling for about a month, which I think helped some. I think the real turning point is when she finally found out what happened to Natalie. It may sound weird, because after she found out Natalie died during that uprising about a year and a half ago, she did grieve, hard. Still is grieving, I think, but somewhere in that she is starting to pick up the pieces enough to where she can move on. She finally started practicing her Reiki thing again, which is good. She has a lot of ground to make up, since she lost a lot of her self-confidence. I hope she can get back up to speed. I don't entirely understand her, or my mom, for that matter, but however it is they do their stuff, they are good.

It would be a shame to see that talent hidden from the world.


End file.
